


more heart and less attack

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: “They’re going to come after me, I know they are– the one, he got away before I could do anything–”Dean’s intense, worried eyes meet yours. “No one’s going to find you here, and no one’s going to hurt you if they do. You hear me?”OR:The reader shows up at the bunker after being attacked, hurt and on the verge of a panic attack.





	more heart and less attack

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: Worried, protective Dean is literally what I live for. But let’s be honest - the reader can kick some ass and take care of herself, too.

The door to the bunker opens with a loud creak, and you stumble inside, the pain in your head intensifying. For a moment, you can’t even remember if you shut off the ignition on your car, or if you just put it in park and got out.

“Hello?” You call, praying like hell that they’re home. You know they’ve been expecting you, but you’re late. Like… really late.

You hear footsteps, and then see Sam come out from the direction of the bedrooms. “You’re late!” He says, not looking at you yet, “We were beginning to think–” He stops in his tracks when he sees you, and you know how you must look. 

You’re definitely bleeding near your left eye, your ribs are aching, and your shirt is torn in two places. Besides all that, you’re fucking _terrified_. You just– you had to– you can’t even bring yourself to say it. 

Suddenly, Sam’s there, looking at you closely, eyes wide. “Jesus.” He whispers. “Hey, hey. What happened?” 

“I–” you start, feeling yourself starting to shake, “There was a fight, and I had to– I had to– Sam, I didn’t have a choice–” You can’t even finish a sentence.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Sam says. “Dean!” He shouts over his shoulder for his brother. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“Why are you yelling–” Dean says, and falters, but doesn’t stop when his eyes land on you like Sam did. If anything, he moves quicker. “Jesus Christ, kid.” 

You don’t say anything, but you’ve got a fistful of Sam’s shirt, and you’re reaching for Dean before he gets to your side, and are grateful for the firm grasp of his hand in yours when he gets close enough. “I’m okay,” you say, “Mostly.” You try for a smile, but you can’t.

“What the hell happened?” Dean’s voice is tight, controlled, but when you look at him, you can see his barely contained anger. You start to tremble again, and his eyes soften just a fraction. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay. We’ll get you fixed up.” 

_._

_._

_._

_Earlier_

_As soon as you left the bar, you knew someone was following you. You’ve got a sixth sense as a hunter and you figured as long as you could make it to your car, you’d have your knife and your gun, and you’d be off to the bunker before anyone could see you leave._

_You didn’t make it that far._

_You knew about the person behind you, but what you didn’t see coming was a man jumping out from a dark corner, putting you in a headlock so tight you can barely breathe, let alone fight back. The second man comes up slowly, laughing, and you want nothing more than to punch his smug face._

_You’re outnumbered and unarmed, and even though you know you can kick these guy’s asses, you’re struggling to reconcile what’s happening – these aren’t monsters. They’re just people. You don’t think they’re demons, or vamps, and a shudder works up your spine when you realize you’ve seen the one man before. He’s a hunter._

_The man with his arm around your neck loosens up slightly, and you take the window, your elbow jabbing his ribs hard as you break free, kicking backwards as soon as your able. He goes down hard, groaning, but it gives his friend too much time._

_Before you can react, he’s there in front of you, and swings hard at you with the butt of his gun, hitting your temple off-center, causing you to see stars. It doesn’t knock you out, but the sharp edge scrapes your forehead, and you grit your teeth at the pain._

_“You and your buddies are really going to try to raise some devil-kid, huh?” He spits. “It wasn’t enough to start the apocalypse?”  
_

_“Screw you.” You growl, preparing yourself for when he comes at you again.  
_

_He lunges, but you’re faster than he is, and you’re able to disarm him quickly, kicking him away from you as you scramble to get a hold of his gun. “How did you really think this was going to go?” You ask, breathless._

_He smirks as he gets back to his feet. “Didn’t really have a plan.” He admits. “Saw you in the bar, without a care in the world. The rest of us are tired of cleaning up after you and the Winchesters.”_

_“What do you think is going to happen if you kill me?”  
_

_“One less mess to clean up.” He says, before advancing on you, kicking your legs out from underneath you. You land on your side, hard, and the breath is knocked out of you when he kicks you. You hear your shirt tear, and bite your lip so you don’t scream.  
_

_He kneels down and his hands find their way around your throat, and your fingers are scrabbling at the pavement for the gun that you dropped._

.

.

.

“They’re going to come after me, I know they are– the one, he got away before I could do anything–”

Dean’s intense, worried eyes meet yours. “No one’s going to find you here, and no one’s going to hurt you if they do. You hear me?”

You nod, trying to take deep breaths and calm down as you walk slowly with Sam and Dean towards the infirmary. “Where’s Cas?” You ask, hoping he can show up and help with the pain in your head.

“We’ll call him.” Sam assures you, “But for now we can take care of your ribs and this–” He reaches gently for your forehead, and you flinch. “Sorry. It needs stitches.” 

Dean’s jaw is clenched when he helps you into a chair in the makeshift infirmary - the boys hated this room with a passion when they moved in; it was too clinical, too much like the hospitals they’d spent time in. They kept the supplies, but got rid of anything resembling a doctor’s office. Now, the furniture is well-worn and comfortable, and you sink into the chair gratefully.

_._

_._

_._

_Earlier_

_Your fingers close around the gun just as he grips your ankle, dragging you towards him. You see the glint of his knife before you hear his words._

_“Doing you a favor, sister. I’ll make it quick.” He says, a smirk on his lips, and you watch in slow motion as he raises his knife quickly, and you know he has no intention of letting you get out of here alive.  
_

_Quick as you can, you aim, firing the gun before the knife hits your stomach, the shock of it sending the blade tumbling out of his hands. He stares at you, eyes wide when he realizes he’s hit._

_He’s dead before he hits the ground._

_On shaky legs, you scramble to your feet. “Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, feeling the adrenaline and shock ripping through your veins, your vision going a little blurry as you struggle not to vomit._

_You just killed someone. Not a monster. Not a vamp, or a demon. A person. An actual person._

.

.

.

“Dean, I’ve never–” You stutter over your words, trying to tell him that you’ve never had to kill someone before, not someone who was _human_. He wasn’t a monster. He was a _hunter_. Someone you’re supposed to have kinship with. 

“No good thinking that way, kid.” He murmurs, asking your permission before he lifts your ruined shirt up and over your head, leaving you in your worn sports bra as he inspects your ribs. Black and blue bruises are already decorating your side where you were kicked. “He tried to kill you. You did what you had to do.” 

You feel cold all over, your hands still shaking. “I’m freezing,” you tell him, and he frowns as he moves to the gash on your forehead. 

“Shock, probably. Hold this.” He instructs, handing you a roll of bandages. After he hands it to you, he leaves the room, giving you a few minutes to try to catch your breath. He’s back quickly, this time with a blanket. He tugs it around your shoulders, and you shudder as warmth starts to seep back into your bones. 

Dean takes the bandages back from you and has you stand up so he can wrap your ribs. When he’s finished, he just stands there, hands on your shoulders, both of you breathing quietly in each other’s space. His jaw clenches again as he looks you up and down, and you sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” He looks bewildered at your words, so you rush to clarify, “I know it freaks you out when any of us get hurt. I just– I couldn’t stay there…”

He bends his knees a little so he can see your eyes. “Hey. Don’t apologize. I don’t like seeing you hurt, you’re right. But you did the right thing coming back here.” 

“If his friend followed me–”

“Then we’ll deal with it.” He says firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “I need to stitch your forehead,” he says a minute later, his voice quieter. 

Sam comes back as Dean gathers up the supplies, and you smile gratefully at him when he hands you a steaming mug of your favorite tea. 

“Bless you.” You tell him, and he chuckles. 

Seeing Dean has it under control, Sam mutters something about research, and squeezes your shoulder gently as he leaves. 

Dean starts his stitches, whispered apologies as the needle pierces your skin leaving his mouth at a mile per minute. “I know it hurts. I’ll be quick. I’m sorry…” 

You grit your teeth, cursing yourself when a tear escapes. You glace up at Dean, and he looks agonized, watching as the tear slides down your cheek. “You didn’t hurt me.” You reassure him, and he shakes his head, eyes dark.

You told him the names of the hunters who attacked you as soon as he got you to the infirmary earlier, and you just hope that he’s not going to do something stupid. “They did, though. They _ambushed_ you. I shouldn’t have let you drive here by yourself–”

You cut him off, palm over his mouth. “First of all, you don’t _let_ me do anything. I was just at the bar, Dean. I stopped on my way here to have something to eat and a drink. There’s no way you could have known.” You stop for a few minutes as he narrows his eyes, telling you to stay still so he can finish the stitches. “Besides,” you say, when he’s finished, and turns away to put things away, “I managed well enough on my own, didn’t I?” The words aren’t triumphant, like you mean them to be. They’re bitter. A little shaky.

Dean turns around, green eyes fierce. “You should never be in that position! I know–” He takes a breath, “I know what we do for a living. But hunting monsters? That’s one thing. Killing someone? Another _hunter_? You– you shouldn’t have had to do that.” 

“Am I a bad person?” You whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “I just wanted to get him off me, to knock him out or something, but he had a knife, and I–”

“Stop it.” Dean says, suddenly right in front of you again, kneeling in front of the chair, his hands clasping over your knees. “You can’t torture yourself like this, sweetheart.” His grin is wry, but also bitter. “Take it from me. Won’t get you anywhere good.” 

“I can’t believe I made it out of there.” You whisper, after a minute. “The way he was talking… he wanted nothing more than to kill me. Probably to brag about it after, too.” 

Dean’s eyes flash. Before you can think, he’s sliding a hand into your hair and pressing himself forward, careful of your ribs, and meeting your lips in a savage kiss. It’s all tongues and teeth, his hot breath ghosting over you as he pants for air. It’s desperate and you struggle to reciprocate the way you want to - your head is pounding, and Dean seems to remember your injuries at the same time as you.

“Sorry.” He murmurs. He doesn’t _look_ sorry. His eyes are dark and half-lidded, his mouth red and swollen from your kisses. “Just– no one is killing you. Got it?” His voice is dark, dangerous. “Anyone tries while I’m around, and I’ll put them down before they can take a step.” 

Your heart swells with adoration from this protective side. You know you can take care of yourself, and he knows it too, but… still. It’s nice to know someone has your back. 

It’s _definitely_ nice to know that your feelings for Dean aren’t entirely one-sided. 

“You need to rest.” He whispers, though he hasn’t given you room to move; his forehead resting against yours. 

“Come with me.” You say, and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You grin. “Someone has to make sure I don’t fall asleep yet. I probably have a concussion.” 

He smiles. “Yeah. Movies and snacks it is.” 

Later, when Cas shows up, you’re curled up with Dean in his bed, and you don’t have the energy to move when Cas finds you like that. Dean doesn’t either, so you take it as a good sign. Cas raises an eyebrow, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. He presses his finger to your forehead, and the pain in your ribs and head lower to a dull throb before they’re gone. 

“Thanks.” You whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” He replies, looking back at Dean. Dean doesn’t say anything, just grins like the cat who ate the canary.

“Sam owes me money.” Cas says, almost offhandedly, and you frown. 

“What?” 

“He said he would give me money if you two realized what you meant to each other. I don’t know why. But you have realized it, and so he owes me money.” 

A blink, and Cas is gone. You and Dean wait a beat before bursting into laughter. 

“Idiots.” Dean mutters, but he tugs you closer to his side all the same, easier now that he doesn’t have to avoid bruised and broken ribs. 

You stay like that for a few more hours until you fall asleep, and when your nightmares come, he wakes you up with gentle touches and even gentler words, telling you in no uncertain terms that he’s never going to let anything happen to you while he has air in his lungs.

You think you like the sound of that.


End file.
